


The Other Side of Seventh Avenue

by beebips



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, F/M, LITG AU, POV Second Person, Slow Burn, Weapons, dead mom, mob!lucas x detective!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebips/pseuds/beebips
Summary: Port Santos - City of Saints. Ironic isn't it? The city of saints is crawling with weapons dealers who as far from holy as it gets.You were appointed detective six months ago, and are following in your mother's footsteps to take down the Kohs, the most notorious mob family in all of Port Santos. When you bump into him in the street, you know you've got a chance to get close to him. But he's just as handsome as they'd said, and even more charming in person. How close can you get without falling harder than you'd intended?
Relationships: Lucas Koh/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	1. The King of the Streets

**Author's Note:**

> Port Santos: the city that dances with the heavens.
> 
> listen to: the devil and the deep blue sea - ella fitzgerald  
> tumblr - beebips

Your heels click along the concrete pavement, as the streetlamps overhead flicker like the stars twinkle and shimmer in the night sky. In the back of your mind is the whisper of your mother, saying: 

_“Never walk east of Seventh Avenue after the sun has set. They call it the Koh family kingdom.”_

Your mother was the wisest woman you’d ever met. The most responsible and clear-headed lady in the city, and you’d followed closely in her footsteps for a long time. Each print she left, you’d tried to match down to the millimeter. But lately, you’ve found yourself straying from her path just a little bit.

And this time, maybe you were looking for a little trouble. Though you hope with bated breath that trouble isn’t looking too hard for you, too.

Your gun and badge are secured on your person, yet still hidden underneath the massive coat you wear. The feeling of uneasiness washes over you as soon as you take the step from the corner of main onto Seventh Avenue. You pull your coat tighter around you and walk a little faster. Even if you were well armed, it didn’t make this journey any less nerve-wracking.

The city streets are empty; the midnight wind whirling leaves down the road. But underneath all the rustling and whistling, you’re sure you can hear a set of footsteps behind you. You do your best to quiet your thoughts, pushing to catch the sound again.

But they manage to pause exactly when you do, and start just as precisely.

It’s probably the echo down the alleys.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

Chills race up and down your spine, screaming for a second of your attention. So you take heed, picking up the pace until you’re practically running down the streets. Each step brings you a little bit closer to Maple Street, where your apartment block resides. The quicker the better, and you can barely see the warm light of the streetlamps on that side of the road.

Only a little bit further.

Just keep going.

As you run, you glance behind you, hair fluttering in the wind and your wake.

It suddenly hits you that there’s nothing behind you but a little Boston Terrier, waddling quickly along the sidewalk. He stumbles a little as he sees you’ve stopped, but otherwise looks happy as can be.

A rush of relief washes over you, and you smile at the puppy, who only smiles brighter in return. Unable to keep in his excitement, he jumps around, letting little barks out while he does.

The sudden noise makes you jump, and that - combined with the knowledge you’re not supposed to be in this neck of the woods – pushes you to your knees. You gently shush the dog while you pat his head.

“Now, what are you doing all the way out here?” You ask, your eyes warming in the dim light. The realization that you’re no longer alone settles a few of your worries, even if your companion for the night is a little Boston Terrier.

His black fur is soft underneath your touch, like he’d been washed earlier that day, and you’re suddenly drawn to the shining tag underneath his chin. As you move to grab it, he wriggles his face away from you, and you’re caught in a game of cat and mouse to see what his name is.

“Come on, buddy, I just want to know your name.” You plead, knowing he probably doesn’t understand you; he refuses to let you see his collar. Barely, you manage to get a hold of the golden tag, and you see his name glimmer in the streetlights.

_Rex._

A chuckle gently falls from your lips, laughing at the irony of this sweet little dog and his royal title.

“You’re a little tough boy aren’t you? Do you want to come home with me until we find your family?” You give him a final pet to his head before pushing yourself to your feet once again, but when you turn around, you’re met face to chest with a mysterious man.

You yelp.

The low light only accentuates the sharp lines of his face, and anxiety creeps up in your chest. How could you have forgotten where you are? A woman, alone, in the middle of the night, in the bad part of town?

This is what your mother would call “a perfect storm.”

“I’m sorry.” You blurt immediately, a hand slipping underneath your coat to rest next to your gun. Pushing your chin up, you meet the gaze of the man standing before you.

And you recognize him.

Your blood runs cold in your veins, ice pushing down to your fingertips as your muscles lock into place.

You know his face. His strong, steely features match the whispers you’ve been desperately seeking for the past year and a half.

The one and only.

The King.

**Lucas Koh.**

_How the hell is he more handsome in person?_

The man has gathered a file in his name so large that it needed a full drawer, filled to the brim with different homicides and weapons deals that you can only barely trace back to the Koh family. It’s all circumstantial evidence, but you know it and so does the rest of the city of Port Santos.

It’s them. It’s always them.

And it’s him standing in front of you, a warm, leather gloved hand on your arm.

“Are you okay, doll?” He asks, bending slightly to meet you eye to eye, looking as if he was searching for something within your irises. “I didn’t scare you too badly, did I?”

Pretend you don’t know who he is.

“I’m alright, thank you. I just was a little spooked.” You move your hand out of your coat to smooth it down, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how the fabric doesn’t lay flush against your waist.

Images of bloody hotel rooms, red stained bed sheets, and abandoned bodies flash in your mind, but you work up the courage to stare into his eyes. But the second he smiles, though you know who he is and what he’s done, your worries are quelled in your stomach, leaving butterflies in their wake.

After a few beats of silence, his eyes dart behind you, to the dog still waving his nub of a tail around. “I see you’ve found Rex.” He chuckles, bending down to scoop him into his arms. “He belongs to a friend of mine. They just adopted him recently, and he loves to find his way outside, it seems.” Lucas smiles again, but this time, with a hint of mystery clouding his eyes. It seems like he’s telling the truth, but you can tell there’s a bit more to the story than he’s letting on.

But Rex doesn’t mind.

Lucas runs his hand along Rex’s back, and the softness swirling in his warm eyes drag you in. Long fingers skate over black silky fur, perfectly clean nails scratching just behind Rex’s ears–

Ugh.

He’s still a killer, though. A cold-blooded killer, who just happens to like really sweet dogs. 

In a heartbeat, the growing silence snaps you from your thoughts, but you hope he’s preoccupied with his thoughts as much as you were. As your eyes trace up his chest, along the length of his neck to finally meet his gaze, you breathe a sigh of relief to see the cogs turning in his head.

And if your heart didn’t skip, it’d be another beat later when he’d speak up.

“Do you need someone to walk you home? This isn’t necessarily the safe part of town.” He chuckles and slips a hand through his hair, knowing fully that he’s the cause of shivers running down the city’s spines.

Your eyes widen, a pang of anxiety shooting through your chest.

How are you possibly going to get out of this?

Before you can answer, he chuckles again, shaking his head. “That’s not really what a doll like you wants to be hearing right now is it?” He reaches into the pocket of his well-tailored jacket, and hands you a business card. “Tell you what, stay on the phone with me while you walk home, it’ll maybe give us both some peace of mind.”

You squint a little in the darkness to see the print.

> LUCAS WHANG
> 
> PHYSIOTHERAPIST

Though it’s not shocking he hasn’t used his real last name, you’re taken aback by the thought that he wouldn’t be showing it off alongside the shiny Rolex sitting on his left wrist.

His number is neatly printed across the bottom, and you hesitate to pull out your phone, but type his number in anyways. When your thumb hits the green “call” button, you pull your phone up to your ear, letting it rest while it rings.

Immediately, you hear the standard ringtone chirping from Lucas’s pocket. His eyes sparkle in the orange light, like a handful of stars holding waiting wishes, and he quickly swipes to answer.

“Hello? I’m sorry, but it seems you’ve caught me at a bad time, I’ve just met the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He jests, meeting your gaze. His voice sounds from your speaker, an echo of what he’s just said a second before.

“You’re too kind, Dr. Whang.” You try to force a smile, but soon find it isn’t forced at all. “I’m on my way home right now,” You say, playing along with his little game. You’ve even decided to use his pseudonym.

“Oh, please. Call me Lucas.”

Lucas turns to the side, letting you pass him on the sidewalk. His hand ghosts over the small of your back when you walk by, and you can’t deny the warmth growing on your cheeks.

Both of your heels are audible against the concrete, growing more quiet and distant with every step. “Tell me, doll.” His smirk is almost audible, dripping from each of his words. “What do you do for work? A doll like you surely can’t be out and about this late as a pencil pusher.”

Swallowing hard, you know you have to think quickly. Flipping through a mind full of occupations, you blurt, “I’m a journalist.”

“Oh?”

“I’m just starting out, but I’m hoping to get a job with the Tribune by the end of the year.” Rambles pour from your lips like water from the tap, yet you can’t seem to stop. “I know it’s a long shot, but I don’t really want to spend forever as a freelance or even worse, working for the Blade.” You fake gag at the idea, the image of horribly mannered reporters bursting into any space you’re in for just a crumb of information racking your brain.

They suck.

Lucas’s voice cuts through your thoughts, “Maybe that’ll happen sooner than you think, doll. I know the broad who runs the Tribune, I’ll give her a call.”

Though you protest, he doesn’t let up, and insists on calling some woman named Marisol. He says she’s tough, but definitely has a soft side to her, and thinks you’ll fit right in at the Tribune.

Before you know it, you’re standing on the front steps of your apartment. You gaze up at the windows as they reflect the starry night. For some reason, you feel a pang surging in your chest. You know the conversation is about to end, and for some reason, you don’t want it to.

You do your best to shake off the feeling, hoping, praying for your aching heart to stop.

He’s Lucas Koh.

_What would your mother have to say about this?_

She spent the better half of her life dedicated to catching the Kohs, and passed that torch onto you six months ago. You were by no means ready, but there was no one with more love for the city.

And to the chief, that meant you were more than capable.

But if he could see you right now, rosy-cheeked while on the phone with the leader of the Port Santos mafia, he’d probably take a few of those words back.

You find yourself sitting on the steps, legs stretched out before you, listening to Lucas’s voice. It’s deep and smooth, each word practically dripping from his lips, ever pressed into a smirk.

But you know it has to end.

Frowning, you stare up into the stars, trying to figure out what the heavens would wish for you if they could.

“Lucas?” You ask, one hand on the cold key in your pocket.

“Yeah?”

“I just made it home.”

You can hear him smiling on the other side of the phone, “If you’re not inside your house, then you can’t call it home. And you’re still stuck with me.” He jests, and from the other side of Seventh Avenue, he hopes you can spend just another moment together.

You pull the key from your pocket, hesitating before you push it into the lock. “I’ve just walked into the main hall, I’ve got however long it takes to walk up a flight of stairs.”

Each step brings you closer and closer to the end of your call. Your foot hovers over the last step while you listen to his voice ring gently on the other side. He says something about a bakery on Figueroa Street, and how it’s his favorite place to get a croissant at night.

He keeps talking as you open your door, throwing your bag onto the floor and crashing onto your couch.

Lucas immediately knows your silence is the beginning of the end. “You’re home, aren’t you?” He asks, and you can hear the disappointment lacing through his words.

“Yeah.” You hum, running your fingers through your hair. You hope that with every tangle knocked loose, you’ll gain more of the strength you need to hang up.

“Well, doll, if you don’t want to walk alone again, you have my card.”

You could cut the tension with a knife, but you try to figure out something to say, “Maybe we can call again tomorrow. Or meet up at the bakery before you go to work?”

_Why are you setting up meetings with mob leaders?_

On the other side of the phone, Lucas smiles. “I’ll text you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

The following silence after you hang up is deafening. It makes you finally realize that you’re alone now, and even though it’s not any different from a normal day, you feel more alone than you have in a very long time.

You grab a pillow, clutching it to your chest.

You could use this.

It’s an in to the most dangerous family in Port Santos.

You have to take it.

And as you settle on the idea, your phone pings with a message.

“Meet me at the Flour Shop tomorrow. 452 Figueroa St. 7:30 am. Best croissants in town.”

Seems a little early for a mob boss, but you quickly type out your reply.

**“See you there.”**


	2. The King's Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a brief mini-chapter while I work on the next part of the story. I plan on adding mini-chapters from Lucas' perspective. They won't be as long, but they should give you a good glimpse into East Side life.   
> They do be getting up to some stuff on the East Side.

Lucas hums when his phone rings. Without hesitation, he answers, but waits for the person on the other end to speak first.

He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

It’s not that kind of phone call.

Henrik’s smooth voice breaks the silence, “Everything’s in place, boss.” he says, trying to keep a squirming Boston Terrier in his arms. “Bob’s had eyes on her since she left.”

“Good.” He replies before hanging up, eyes trained on the empty streets.

Lucas’s heart is steady; no adrenaline pushes through his veins.

It’s just another day around the block.

-

Further away, Henrik lurks in the shadows. He holds Rex much easier now that he’s not on the phone, and waits until you pass by.

The second your shadow moves over the alley, he sets the Rex down, knowing that he’d be itching to chase after you. Much unlike his owners, Rex is very fond of all people, and he immediately scurries after you, little paws padding against the concrete.

A couple streets down from him, Lucas straightens out his shirt, waiting for his perfect moment to arise.

And when it does, he walks straight and tall, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while he moves toward his target.

You.

-

Henrik settles against the brick, pleased to have completed his tasks. He peers out onto the street just in time to see Lucas strolling up behind you, moving into position.

The moment that you begin chatting, he can see his charm playing out. You grin and blush, cheeks tinged pink as he lays it on thick.

And it looks like everything is going according to plan. Lucas has easily gotten you to play your cards right into his beautifully manicured hands.

He thought it’d be harder to get a detective to open up, yet the smile on your face proves him incorrect.

These past six months of waiting and planning have been unbelievably boring. It’s taken far too long for this whole shindig to be set into motion, and Henrik’s glad to finally get the ball rolling.

Otherwise, they stole Arjun’s dog for nothing, save for the fact that Rex is actually cute, and really gets along with the family. Over the past two weeks, Lucas has grown rather fond of the little guy, and may or may not show up with a little treat for him when he comes home.

-

Looking over, Henrik sees his oldest friend smile like he only does when he’s four beers in. It’s a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes, softening at the sight of you before him.

His touch lingers against your arm – the classic flirty move. Let them feel the warmth of your touch, then hope that they start to crave it. But when Henrik looks up, Lucas’s cheeks are just as pink as yours, but barely visible from the way shadows play against his face.

You’d have to know him as well as Henrik does to see to notice how he’s caught up in your gravity, leaning in just the smallest bit.

He wonders how much of this is just about the job.

But as soon as he notices it, he pushes it’s gone, and he can’t help but wonder if it was a just trick of the dim light. Any unplanned movement he thinks he saw is immediately replaced by charming confidence.

Lucas knows what he wants, and he always, _always_ , goes after what he wants.

-

When you walk away, holding your phone up to your ear, Lucas signals for Henrik to go home.

Now’s the easy part.

As he speaks to you, Lucas strolls easily down the streets. No one’s out right now, and his muscle memory starts to take over as he gives in to your conversation. Everything east of Seventh Avenue has been memorized for as long as he can remember.

He grins as he follows the winding and cracked sidewalks, the lilting sound of your voice filling his ears. He can practically hear your heart pounding. Your voice wavers when he compliments you for the tenth time, and his brown eyes sparkle with mischief.

He listens to you talk about your day, and he tells you about his. They’re both laced with lies, but you both laugh anyways about imaginary people and silly water-cooler chat that never happened.

_“I think Janet is just trying to get me back. I may or may not have ruined her birthday celebration last month.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“I mean, how was I supposed to know she was allergic to strawberries?”_

_“Was she okay?”_

_“I mean, eventually?”_

There’s nothing that he hasn’t planned for.

“ _So me and some of the guys are taking a lunch break, and so we walk down to Costello’s, and one of the boys, Gary, sees this Betty – couldn’t hold a candle to you – but Gary’s making googly eyes as he goes down Salsipuedes Street._

_He’s always like that with the ladies, so it’s not really surprising – he’d bed anything that walks – but deep in it all he’s a good guy. Not real subtle, though._

_But anyways, we’re just strolling along, messing about, until we hear this ‘ **thunk!’** and we turn around and the lad’s walked right into a lamp post! He’s holding his head, and immediately this broad comes running over like, _

_‘Oh! Are you okay? Do you need some ice?’_

_And then he’s like ‘I think I just need to sit for a while, would you mind sitting with me?’_

_He’s all busy playing the game, so we just leave him be. We were too hungry to be thinking about his sex life. The food at Castellano’s is so good, even a saint would leave his friend behind for it. I swear.”_

You laugh. Genuinely. It comes from your gut and doesn’t stop until your sides hurt and you have to stop walking to catch your breath.

It’s perfect.

Leaning against a lamppost, he looks up at the heavens, knowing they’ll guide him. They always have. His mind wanders to thoughts of his father, and what he would’ve done.

His father’s presence had always been powerful, so powerful that he can almost feel him at his side right this moment.

It comes in flashes – the late nights, the screams from the end of the hall, and sitting in his father’s expensive leather chair behind the desk. He remembers how his father would explain the plan to him, point at the map, and remind him that the other side of Seventh Avenue will be his kingdom someday.

_“Son, any risk is worth taking. Deal with the mess after.”_

The ghost of his father’s strong hand presses against his neck.

His father would have played the game.

Lucas takes a deep breath, letting the oxygen flow through him. At the end of the day, he’s not exactly worried about anything – it’s black and white. Just like chess. 

It’s all just a game.

And he’s got it in the bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr - beebips


	3. Not a Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Lucas at The Flour Shop, the quaint little bakery on Figueroa Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry it's been such a long time since i've updated. a lot has changed within my life.  
> tososa remains.

Lucas faces the man tied up before him, his brown eyes dark as a starless sky. His voice maintains a steady volume, but each word drips with venom.

“So you thought we wouldn’t notice? That we were so _unbelievably dull_ that we wouldn’t notice the difference between eight hundred thousand dollars of inventory versus your _god damn_ six hundred?”

Before Lucas, opposing brown eyes expose a single emotion. _Fear_.

“You told me to trust you, Levi.” He says, pacing around the room as he cracks his knuckles. “ _’Absolutely no tricks’_ ” Lucas mocks, a fake Manchester accent obvious as he does his best impression of the man in front of him.

In the blink of an eye, his cold demeanor shifts to a smile, a dangerous glint twinkling deep in his eyes, but it’s quickly buried underneath cold steel just as soon as it arrived.

“Levi,” he snarls, “do you take me for an idiot?”

Lucas bends down, a large hand taking hold of Levi’s face and forcing him to meet his gaze. Unease spreads hot over Levi’s chest, sweat rolling down the side of his face, and he clenches his jaw, unwilling to respond.

Lucas scowls.

There’s nothing worse than a man who doesn’t speak his truth.

“I’ll ask you again, nitwit.” He speaks, swift punches punctuating the space between each word. “ _Am I an idiot?”_

When Levi refuses to answer once again, he’s met with Lucas’s fist against his cheek, a searing pain left in its wake.

Boiling, Levi looks up at his attacker.

“Fuck you.”

“Come again?” He demands, landing another blow. He lets his rage wash over him, pushing through his muscles until Levi’s lip busts. Finally, he steps away, rubbing his knuckles, each swipe smearing crimson across his skin.

“I said,” Levi pants, a bit of blood dribbling down his chin as he opens his mouth. _“Fuck you.”_ Spitting the remaining blood at Lucas’s shoes allows flecks of red to dot across the shiny black leather.

Lucas stares at his new loafers for a moment, taking in the sight of them ruined by this pathetic excuse of a man. Letting the heat build in his chest, he kicks over Levi’s chair, sending him crashing face first into the concrete.

“ _God. I hate Benton Heights.”_ Lucas mutters, rage growing in his chest.

He sets his foot against Levi’s face.

“You’re lucky I’m not going to kill you, pretty boy.” He lets his weight push against Levi, savoring the sound of his pained groans, before speaking again. “I want my money back. All of it.” The pressure only keeps increasing. “And I keep this shipment, for my troubles.”

After a beat, he removes his foot, crouching down to see the black and blue bruises forming on his enemy’s face. Pride swells in his chest as he watches the fear flash again in Levi’s eyes.

Lucas bends down to Levi, close enough to whisper into his ear.

“Say hi to Tim for me, yeah?”

He stands, fixing the creases in what was once a crisp, white button up. Scarlet specks are splattered across the sleeves, and he takes a moment to neatly cuff them before pushing the material up to his toned biceps.

Without a second glance, he turns away to leave the room, letting the door slam behind him.

On the other side, Jakub waits quietly, arms crossed over his chest. Lucas gives a curt nod while he takes a damp towel from his hands, using it to wipe the red staining his knuckles.

“That asshole got blood on my shirt.” He says, annoyed, “And I’m already late for my date.”

Jakub chuckles, hand ready to take back the towel. “Where’s this date at?”

“Downstairs.”

“Work or play?”

Lucas smirks, running a hand over the stubble along his cheeks. “A little bit of both.”

“Gonna go fall in love, boss?” Jakub jests, raising an eyebrow.

Lucas answers with a scoff, “No, but she’s going to think I am.”

He turns away, the heels of his shoes beginning to echo down the long hallway. He doesn’t turn to face Jakub when he speaks again, “Oh – and take care of the pretty boy, will you?”

Jakub hums in response, but Lucas is too far to hear, confident that he wouldn’t say no. If Jakub ever wants to climb the ladder, he better be following every single order.

But it’s not like Lucas is planning to give it all up anytime soon.

-

As you park your car, you glance between your phone and the building in front of you.

_The Flour Shop – OPEN._

You throw your gun and badge in the glove box, knowing you couldn’t possibly bring it in with you. Not many journalists are packing heat these days.

As you throw the sun visor down, you slide open the mirror, making sure your makeup looks nice. Your skin looks clean, soft color dusted across your cheeks, and your eyes are lightly accentuated with mascara. It’s kind of fun to be a little dressed up, and you smile at the pink gloss swiped across your lips.

It’s not every day you get to have breakfast with a mob boss.

Doing your best to ignore the way your hands tremble as you smooth out your pencil skirt, you throw the sun visor back up, and listening to the creak of your car door as it opens.

You stretch out one leg, closely followed by the other until they’re both warm under the morning sun. After standing, there’s a satisfying click of the locks in your car, and you bend into the window to see your reflection one last time.

If nothing else comes from this, at least you look damn good.

The Flour Shop is a quaint little bakery in the middle of a pretty average-looking strip mall. The sweetness emanating from it hits your senses even before you enter. And once you’re inside, you notice it’s fairly empty. Only a few people are scattered around the place, sipping coffee and reading the papers.

It’s calm, if just the tiniest bit unsettling.

From behind the counter, a freckled man smiles at you, his eyes soft and warm as they fall on you. A Scottish accent lingers heavy in his voice as he speaks. 

“You must be the lass looking for Lucas. The journalist, yeah?”

You nod, a little guilt building as you start building your web of lies. Still, you put on your best smile. As you approach him, you hold out a hand, putting on your best smile. He gladly takes it, and his firm strong handshake moves through your arm.

When you tell him your name, he repeats it, savoring the way it rolls off his tongue.

“I’m Bobby.” He says, sparkling. Bobby stretches his arms out, as if he was going to give the little building a big hug. The gesture causes a chuckle to fall from your lips. “This place is my kingdom. Welcome to The Flour Shop.”

As he sets his arms down, he leans over the counter to look at you with a firm eye. For a split second, you feel like prey – completely helpless under his hazel gaze. But as if he could sense your discomfort, he breaks out into another smile that almost washes away your worries.

“You know, you’re just as pretty as he said you’d be. I thought he had to be exaggerating, saying you were absolutely the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.” His bright smile fades into a smirk, and you watch his tongue dart out across his lips. “But here you are.”

_Is he trying to flirt with you?_

You push the thought away quickly, making space to plan for your next move.

_If they know each other, he’s got to be connected to the Kingdom._

So occupied with your thoughts, all that comes as a response is the pink blush crawling over your face. Bobby’s eyes light up as they flick down at your heating cheeks.

You open your mouth to begin speaking, but his laugh interrupts your thoughts, filling the silence with warmth.

“Anyways, the boss told me to save you the best croissant of the day – so I saved you two. One of them is full of chocolate hazelnut ganache, and the other is just plain. I wasn’t sure which one you would like more, so I just picked both.”

He places a ceramic plate in front of you with two immaculate, golden croissants on top.

“Oh. Wow.” You manage to say, a bit stunned.

The buttery scent of them is intoxicating. They’re works of art, and you’re a little sad you have to eat them.

How do you even get them to be this perfect?

Bobby quickly turns away, suddenly occupied by the espresso machine. After the whirring of steamed milk and coffee, he places a large white mug in front of you, decorated with a foam heart.

“Lucas also said to get you a Havana Latte.” He winks and reaches out, laying a hand on top of yours. “It has some condensed milk, but I think you might just be sweeter.”

“Thank you, Bobby.” You chuckle, removing your hand from his grasp as you reach for your wallet.

“Oh, no need, lass.” He says, “Lucas already paid me.”

Surely he has the money to spare, but you’re still slightly surprised he’s spent it on you. If he weren’t one of the biggest weapons dealers on the coast, the gesture would be pretty sweet.

Pun intended.

Would Lucas be the type to laugh at puns? Come to think of it, all you seem to know of him is what’s in the files. It doesn’t really have “sense of humor” as a category.

> **NAME: KOH, LUCAS DOB: 23-3-1992**
> 
> **GENDER: MALE ETHNICITY: BRITISH KOREAN**
> 
> **HAIR: BLACK EYES: BROWN**
> 
> **HEIGHT: 184 cm WEIGHT: 88kg**

This and the extensive amount of crimes circumstantially tied to him don’t really make him out to be the nicest man out there. But here are two croissants and a latte to tell you maybe he’s not the worst either.

Bobby’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Lucas said he might be a little late – work issues – but that’s not too surprising these days. His receptionist is kind of…” He whirls his finger in the air, a sharp whistle escaping past his lips, “scatterbrained.”

Gesturing over your shoulder, Bobby continues, “But anyways, Luke usually likes to hang out and brood in that corner over there. It gets pretty quiet down there, but the music can keep you company until then.” His final smile is genuine as you pick up your dishes and move away from the counter.

Though you’re turned away from him, you can feel the heat of his gaze at your back. 

In the aforementioned corner is a little booth, protected from the rest of the bakery. A sinking feeling in your gut tells you it’s like that for a reason.

And your reason for being here, is to try and learn more about Lucas. Determined, you file through your mental list of things to watch out for.

  * Who are his associates?
  * When’s the next “event?”
  * How much of this city is actually under his influence?



Above all, you have one important question at the front of your thoughts.

  * How does exactly does his mind work?



As you settle against the leather, you find that though others can’t really see into the booth, you have a pretty good view of everything around you. The sun trickles in from the glass, pouring over the wooden floors and settling underneath each person’s feet. Despite how normal it seems on the outside, it’s absolutely stunning on the inside.

There’s two speakers directly behind you, but not overwhelmingly loud. Just enough that it completely immerses you in music.

For a moment, you forget where you are and why you’re there. You’re no longer a detective, itching for information so much that you’d go on an undercover date with a mob boss. You’re just a wonderfully-dressed woman in what seems to be the nicest bakery in town.

You gently pick up one of the pastries, and if you thought they were golden then, they’re even more so when painted under the yellow sunshine. As your teeth push past the flaky layers, you find your eyes fluttering shut, letting the taste flow over your tongue. It’s endlessly buttery, and a gentle sweetness courses through your senses.

Suddenly, though your eyes are shut, you can tell that it gets slightly darker.

Something’s blocking your light, or rather, _someone_.

The scent of deep, rich sandalwood and vanilla reaches your nose, and immediately, you know who it is.

_The one and only._

Keeping your eyes shut, you smile and raise an eyebrow.

“Lucas?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Though you fight against it, your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice. You’re unsure if it’s from the anxiety that stems from meeting a mob boss or the way his special nickname for you falls from his lips.

“Good morning, darling.”

Finally, you open your eyes, squinting at the brightness overwhelming you. When it all fades back to normalcy, the light flows from behind Lucas like a halo from the heavens.

“Good morning, Lucas.” You smile.

He mirrors your expression immediately, reaching down to wipe a crumb from the corner of your mouth. His touch is hot against your skin, but gentle.

Almost kind.

The head of the Port Santos mafia cannot be kind.

Right?

His hand remains rested along your jawline and his eyes locked on yours. Fruitlessly, you try to fight against the blush rising on your cheeks.

“I – uh, please, sit.” You stutter, gesturing to the seat across from you.

He chuckles, and ignores you, choosing to slide into your side of the booth until you can feel the warmth of his skin through your polyester blouse. His cologne is simply intoxicating as he shifts to rest his arm around your shoulders.

You quickly take a sip of your coffee to stop yourself from saying something incredibly stupid, like “ _You smell really nice.”_ or “ _God, you’re really fucking handsome up close.”_ With a gulp, you do your best to push down the thoughts.

Thankfully, the silence is quickly broken by the clacking of plates against the tables. Bobby seems to have appeared with Lucas’s breakfast.

“Here you go, boss.”

Black coffee and a good portion of coffee cake.

After a curt nod from Lucas, Bobby turns his attention to you, eyes glittering with the smallest bit of mischief. “How is it tasting, lass?”

“It’s great. Thank you.” You smile gently, and at the edge of your vision, you can see Lucas quirk an eyebrow at him.

Immediately, Bobby pulls a sheepish smile before raising his hands in joke defense, repeating, “I’m going, I’m going” as he walks away.

Lucas just chuckles, rolling his eyes. “He’s such a flirt. Don’t let it get to you too much.”

“My goodness, I could tell! He was quite… forward when I first arrived.” You reply, recounting your experience in your head. A blush creeps up on you as you remember how flirtatious he was.

“Do you want me to have a word with him? Darling, as long as you’re with me, you’re off limits.” He remarks, letting his fork clink against the porcelain plate.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary.” You contest, putting a hand on his arm to stop him from getting up.

He smirks as his eyes dart to where your fingers rest on his bicep. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

For a moment, you sit in silence, enjoying your breakfast and the pleasantness of your company. Even if it is that of a mafia leader.

Maybe now would be a good time to ask a few questions.

Remember your points.

Don’t ask “ _what’s it like being a mob boss?”_

Do ask something to slip past his defenses, and maybe he’ll let you in on more than he intends.

Pick his brain a little.

 _“The best liars tell you a little bit of truth.”_ Your mother used to say.

Holding the warm latte between your hands, you look up at his face.

His handsome, strong face.

“So what ended up keeping you so long today? Bobby said something about your receptionist?” You ask, anxiety pulling your fingers tighter around the mug.

“Oh, yeah. My receptionist, Chelsea, she’s really sweet, but keeps managing to schedule appointments at very strange times.” He begins, “This one just happened to be at 6:00 this morning. The practice doesn’t _technically_ open until 8:00, but I felt bad. This bloke dragged himself all the way from Benton Heights.” He chuckles at the last remark, running a hand over his hair.

Benton Heights.

What the fuck does Benton Heights have to do with anything?

“Surprised one of those snobs from Benton Heights came over to our side.” You remark, finding yourself gently settling into his embrace. “You must be good.”

“Of course I am.” Laughing, he pulls you just a little closer to him.

Play along, kid. Play along.

“They talk a big game, yet they’re just like the rest of us.” You have to stop yourself from beginning a whole rant about your rival city. Their detectives are huge assholes. They would drive Lamborghinis around if they could.

You spend a while joking around, imitating the affluent neighborhood. Laughter rings out from your little booth, yet it’s completely covered by the jazz piano flowing from the speakers.

Jokingly, you grab your mug, sticking your pinky into the air and take a dainty sip. _“Oh, this coffee is just simply for peasants. I only drink coffee that was handpicked by the Queen herself.”_

Lucas laughs in a way that feels so incredibly natural, it’s fully surprising to him. Laughter just appears out from deep in his gut until he’s bent over and struggling for air.

Suddenly, it feels like you’ve known him for forever; the façade falls once again, leaving you as just two people on a date.

His gaze is warm on your face as his fingers trace shapes into your arm. His other hand reaches into his pocket, pulling a silver cigarette case from his tailored trousers.

“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” You ask, brows furrowed.

“I’ve been coming here quite a long time, darling. Bobby doesn’t mind, and anyone who does can have word with me themselves.” He smirks, eyes sparkling. They draw you in deeply, until you’re surrounded in wondrous deep brown.

When Lucas removes the arm wrapped around you, you instantly notice the lack of warmth, and you immediately crave the feeling again.

“Would you like one?” He says, and the smooth, deep texture of his voice yanks you from your thoughts. It takes just a moment for you to recognize he’s holding his cigarette case out towards you.

“Oh, no. I don’t smoke.” You answer.

“I probably shouldn’t either. I tell people how to take care of themselves all day, and here I am.” He chuckles at the irony for a moment before continuing, “But my dad used to smoke.

“My mom did too.”

As he flips open the top and grabs a cigarette, you notice his knuckles are red, and the skin on some are just a little split. It was the arm that was behind you for the entirety of your time together, and you’d never had the chance to see it until now.

Is that what he was doing this morning?

He tucks a cig between his lips, and they look incredibly soft wrapped around it.

Maybe you shouldn’t think about that right now.

You know you shouldn’t pry. It’s walking the line of naiveté and the possibility of him catching onto you. Still, you find yourself asking,

“Is your hand okay?”

Lucas is understandably caught slightly off guard, and his thumb slips off the sparkwheel as he tries to light his cigarette.

He speaks with the Marlboro wobbling between his pink lips, “Oh, yeah.”

As he manages to get it lit, he takes a slow, almost sensual drag. The tip burns red as he lets the smoke gather deeply in his lungs.

When he finally lets it flow from his lips, you’re mesmerized by the sight.

He continues after he breathes out the rest of the smoke, “I was doing some boxing earlier, and I was in a hurry and forgot to wrap my other hand.” He chuckles, taking a look at the bruises on his knuckles. As he does, a small drip of red falls down his skin.

Now, when did he have time to do boxing in between here and “the office?”

“Oh.” You manage to say, taking hold of his hand in yours. “Do you need some ice? Maybe a bandage? I have a bandage in my purse- “

You’re cut off by the sweet sound of Lucas’s laugh again. “I’m alright, darling. But if you want to put a bandage, you’re welcome to.”

He sticks out his right hand to you, the sunlight draping warm over his skin. You let your fingers drag over the beginnings of purple bruises.

When you meet his eyes, sincere and gentle, you’re once again confused at how he’s definitely killed _at least_ thirty people in the past six years.

Maybe you’ve got it all wrong.

You know you didn’t.

Smiling past the horrible feeling at the pit of your stomach, you gently take his hand in yours. You feel the weight. You get acquainted with it.

His tan skin is relatively soft, but you can feel the years of hard work within it. The callous running across his hands tells a significant story, and you’re drawn into the thought of what he’s done with them.

The people he’s hurt.

The damage he’s done.

All contained within his hands, and held between yours.

You let go, turning to your purse. You’d always kept a band-aid or two in your purse, just in case. Gently digging into the pockets, you pull one out, smiling as you pull it from the packaging. In a single motion, you’ve laid out a small bandage across his middle knuckle.

He takes a moment to admire your handiwork, and chuckles. “You keep _Mulan_ bandages?”

“I just think she’s neat.” You smile at him, and he immediately mirrors your smile back.

Lucas settles back against the seat, taking a moment to wrap his arm back around you. “Well and fair, my dear.”

You would hate to admit it to anyone, but it feels like coming home. His presence next to you just feels so _normal_.

Almost right. 

You know that it all stems from the touch-starved life you’ve been leading. Not much time to be physically affectionate when you’re trying to keep lowlifes off the streets.

_Push the thought away._

A smile crosses over your face as you look up at Lucas. His chiseled features only seem to sharpen underneath the morning glow, and you let your eyes trace over his face. Strong, dark eyebrows hover over his brown eyes. His nose creates what could be the most perfect profile you’ve ever seen, just above full, rose colored lips.

 _Fuck_.

He catches you in the act, smirking as he brings his cigarette back to his lips. “Anything I can help you with, darling?”

Your breath catches in your throat, cutting your air flow as you reach for anything at all to say. But you stammer, “Oh, uh- “

Lucas moves in close to you until his lips press a kiss against your cheek. “I’m kidding, sweetheart.”

You sigh, smiling in embarrassment as a blush creeps up on your face, heating until you feel the fire burning on your skin. “Of course you were.”

He lets a beat of silence pass by before he changes the subject. “Want to get out of here?”

“Where to?”

“How about I walk you to work?”

A nervous fear crashes over you like an unexpected wave, gripping your lungs and stealing your air.

If he knows, he must really be itching to see how you’ll worm your way out of this one.

There’s no way he knows.

Either way, you’re interrupted by the shrill ring of Lucas’s phone. His brown eyes roll as he takes a deep breath, shoving his cigarette between his teeth while he grabs his phone from his pocket.

_RM._

He sighs as he hits the green “answer” button, and the smoke spills from his soft lips. You can see the veins in his wrist as he lifts his phone to his ear.

“ _What is it this time?”_ Lucas growls, showing you the points of his teeth as he does.

He pulls his arm from around you to settle his hand against his forehead as he listens to the person on the other end.

You can barely hear it, but you’re sure of what the voice says:

_“Boss, we’ve got a can full of problems.”_

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Frustrated, he pushes himself up from the table, the silverware clattering against porcelain underneath the force. “Stop talking.”

He turns to you, pulling the phone from his ear as he leans down to meet you eye to eye. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ll just be a moment.” Before you can answer, his soft lips meet the apples of your cheeks. His kiss is sweet and gentle, but ends much too soon.

You watch as he quickly walks to the other side of the bakery, anyone in his way quickly moving to the side. Fear seems to flash in their eyes as they see him coming their way.

Before you know it, the little bell at the top of the door is announcing his departure, and you see him pacing in front of the store.

On the other side of the glass, Lucas can feel his blood reaching its boiling point.

“Are you a _fucking_ idiot, Rocco? What part of ‘ _I am busy, do not call me”_ do you not understand?” He spits, running his fingers through perfectly gelled hair.

“Sorry, boss. Henrik told me to call you.” Rocco apologizes, but it doesn’t really sound like he’s sorry.

“Have him call me. Now.”

“He’s kind of bu-“

“I said _now_ , dipshit. Before I have you hung by your toes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucas doesn’t wait for anything else before he hangs up the phone.

Through the window, you can clearly see him mouth _“fuck”_ before he receives another call. No matter how hard you try to read his lips, it’s not as easy as it looks in the tv shows.

But you remember what he said earlier.

“Are you a _fucking_ idiot, _Rocco?”_

You have no doubt about it.

_RM._

_Rocco Mulligan._

Rocco Mulligan is not necessarily _good_ at his job, if you can consider black market weapons dealing a job. Still, he’s managed to narrowly escape the police department for the past three years. Somehow, he manages to put up the “it was all just a weird coincidence” act every damn time you’ve seen him in court. It doesn’t help that he’s gotten ahold of the best criminal defense lawyers in the country.

Even through all your thoughts, you can’t seem to look away from Lucas. You’re maddeningly enchanted by him. His white button up seems to cling in all the right places, but specifically around his arms. You can see the faintest hint of a tattoo around his bicep, underneath the oxford cotton.

He looks so put together. His shoulders look endlessly broad, moving with each breath. The shirt, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his slacks which seem to be perfectly tailored around his muscular legs, and even his shoes, that shine endlessly in the morning light.

He turns back towards the window, checking his hair in the reflection. You smile, knowing just how _normal_ he can be. It reminds you of when you were in school, watching the boys fix their hair in anything that shines.

While Lucas talks, endless frustration seems to pour over every feature. You can’t make out a single word, but you can just see his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. While he listens, his jaw tightens underneath the tension.

But when he catches you staring, his anger breaks, if only for a moment. Quicker than you can process, he throws a wink your way before turning out towards the street once again. It’s almost baffling how such a simple gesture can make your heartbeat hasten, but it does without question.

It’s not long before the bell above the door rings with his entrance. You find it astonishing how quickly he walks, confidence radiating from every click of his loafers against the wooden floors.

As soon as he’s in front of you, he stops, an apologetic look crossing his face.

“Sorry to cut things short, darling, but I have to get back to the office.” He says quickly, leaning in to press a tender kiss against your cheek.

“Oh, sure. Is everything alright?” You reply, raising a hand to rest against the side of his face. You take in the solidity of his cheekbones underneath your fingertips. 

“Just some paperwork troubles.”

“You seem to have a lot of paperwork troubles these days, Lucas.”

“Maybe I won’t get a bunch of imbeciles for employees next time.” He chuckles, and though you know you probably shouldn’t, you find yourself chuckling with him.

A beat of silence goes by before he speaks again.

“Lunch this week.”

“Are you always this demanding?” You jest.

His hand moves to hold your jaw like precious glass. Lucas’s slender fingers wrap around your chin, locking you in a hold that’s ever so gentle. You’re so incredibly soft underneath his touch, and like precious glass, he knows he could break you just the same.

So he lets it slip from his grasp. A pang in your chest leaves you longing for his warmth against your skin for just a moment more.

“I’ll text you.”

“As always, Lucas, I’ll be waiting.”

The moment after he stands, the deep scent of sandalwood lingers around the booth. With a quick goodbye to Bobby, Lucas leaves.

There’s just _something_ about how graceful he is. Each and every step is so smoothly and elegantly placed. It’s maybe even regal.

A shiver runs through your spine as you remember _that’s_ how he walks through the shadows.

With confidence and perfect posture, head tall and back straight.

You don’t dare look away until he’s turned down the corner, trying to convince yourself that you’re watching as a detective.

Not a lover.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Big Boy work! I hope you enjoy it just as much as I enjoy writing it.  
> tumblr - beebips


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